


From the Mountains to the Sea, I Hear Your Voice - You Call to Me

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Original Work
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Anglo-Saxon, Arthur and Morgana are half-siblings, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Gore, Chivalry, Civil War, Dark Past, Druids, Dysfunctional Family, Español | Spanish, Experimental Style, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Flashbacks, Gen, Guinevere/Gwenythfar is Welsh, Historical, Historical References, I'm not bilingual by any stretch of the means so I'm sorry, Knights - Freeform, Lancelot is from Spain, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Old England land of the Britons, Original take on Arthurian mythology, POV Experimental, POV First Person, Religious Conflict, Religious Content, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Sixth century, Slurs, Small amounts at least, Spain, The Romans, The old religion of the druids. The Romans. Aaaand early christianity, War, Working on representation of characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: Lancelot has come from nothing, because he knows after the advance of Rome there will be nothing left. He burns, honour-bound not to allow another land to suffer the dire cruelty from what some refer to as Fate- es o si que es, si esto es -or to be crushed under the bloody spears and swords of tyranny.His choices will change everything.
Relationships: Agravaine/Kai, Arthur & The Knights of the Round Table, Guinevere/Lancelot du Lac, Lancelot & Arthur, Lancelot & Guinevere, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	From the Mountains to the Sea, I Hear Your Voice - You Call to Me

_[A bundle of pages discovered after the year 523 in central Briton, Saxon-held lands, as if written back and forth in time periods and from an individual of various ages.]_

\---\>>>

We cannot choose who or what we love, no mas than we can change what we are. We only can choose how to act on those feelings in life to show honour. Gods give us hearts and minds and souls; hands to hold and ears to hear. We only are free to decide what we choose to listen and how we wish to act. 

I always wish to act with honour. From the days of my youth I was told what it means to be a man brave in deed and word. Honest and true, to serve all women as if they have noble birth and to lead men to right. To follow those with honour. 

I have come and Hectore with me to this place of Britons ahead of Visigoths and Franks. So far from our homeland donde es isla. We cannot look back yet to see destruction, yet in talons of Pictish, Saxon, Jute, the Briton land is in dominio, a stranglehold. 

Hectore and I have come to Auf Arden, where her ageing leader - king regent of the Britons who holds land in the centre of this place. He is Uther Pen Dragon, and's hemmed in on all sides by lands of Strathclyde and Gododdin, Saxony and Dumnonia. Another lord of Rheged holds sway south, as my brother and I see coming here to speak. 

We come from seige of Romans in Espana, across the azul sea to this strong land of all its hardy peoples, which I hope to assist. I learned of the trade of being a knight from my father, as you know. Learned of sword making and horsemanship as a child. Using both to traverse es isla, to this castle that is so different from my home. 

I come with Hectore as my squire to offer service as a knight.

\---\>>>

"Why do ye come to us?" Pen Dragon asks, eyes flashing bear-like in demand as he stands on dais, fur-lined cape and strong arms in cloth of fine material and strong colour. His voice holds venom like the snakes in the rocks; you remember them - Papi would tell us to move soft, Hectore and Maria and I. Full of fuego we were, and Hectore still is as the Lord of this place now calls us gabachos.

"You sit in your chair and talk down to us, we who run to your country ahead of la Romana -"

"Silencio, Hectore," I curl my hand around his shoulder, with the sharpness you used when we were young. Yet he is stubborn, and stares back to me, how you say, in the brightness of fury.

"But Lancelot,"

"Hist!" I warn. Other men watch this exchange with interest, and "I apologise, senor, for my brother. He worries, and I only ask a chance I am given for to assist your people." Releasing Hectore, I clasp my hands together and make a bow. 

"Father," a young man with hair shining golden as the sun, standing to the right of the Lord Pen Dragon in silence with gaze hued like the ocean is trained upon me. I in standing rigid and attempting to show respect beside my brother, who glowers under his unruly hair. I push back the hanks of it - you would tell us both ours need a clean, but we have been running and riding for a long time. This boy my age it seems now says he would speak to us, and his father looks to a lady with sharp dark eyes as she expels sound. 

A chopping motion of the hand precedes Pen Dragon saying "Very well, but recall I am the king."

A twitching of lips stills as the young man bows. "Of course, my liege," he says, then turns to me, eyes light and inquisitive. More than any such would stand at home out of the north for we swordsmiths and horse-breakers. "I am Arthur," he tells us. "Arthur Mac Aydn, son of Uther the King. May I have the honour of your names?"

I nod, and then kneel before him. "I am Lancelot of the lake and mountains, and this is Hectore my brother. We are swordsmen and horse trainers, sire." I look to Hectore who kneels as well, reluctantly.

"Well met." Arthur's tone seems...how to say, amused? It holds a warmth, however, curiosity as he next asks "Why come you to our shores? Our land has not been...on the friendliest of terms with yours in the past. And my father, he is cautious."

I look from underneath my hair, shaking back its black, wishing for so much of myself to be presentable. To be believed. "Si, I understand. Our lands have not been friends. Yet, though I love her I am not my country, and Espana as taken by Rome is not the home I have known. Men are butchered or conscripted into the army. My father was killed for belief in a god the Romans forbade." I see him, then, forming the Sign of the Cross with ruined fingers as blood pours from his lips. You were close, closer than I, and so you know. I suppress a shudder. "Mi papi was as strong as yours in his way, and we have come to aid your fathers and sons, brothers and sisters, mothers and daughters. To be part of a people who can still stop the Roman advance. I come to warn and help, if I can. My brother as well, if it is your will."

No sound as then Arthur nods to me before he looks to his father.

Sharp eyes and hard words strike at me. "And if we do not accept your 'help'?" The king says like we are dirty, as if we spite him. My temper would flare, you know, had I been young. Had I not seen all I have seen. But now I do my best to shrug, to let his words pass by.

"By all means, majesty, toss us out. But I have heard of honour in Britonia, and ask for a space to fight here, to prove myself." I lift my chin to him, and loud words break out, falling against each other like crashing rocks. Lady of the deep eyes laughs, and I see Arthur wear a smile. My brother glowers, but that is because I bid him hold his tongue. 

The king holds high his hand for quiet. "Bold request," his voice is cold, and my heart taps against my ribs as he continues "but who shall fight this man, from the ruins of Spain, who expects us to see an enemy in Rome and comes wailing a dirge, licking his wounds?" 

Hectore snarls but I take his hand tight. This leader wishes to provoke a rise from us; why I know not, yet others in the hall are laughing.

Yet Arthur does not. Instead he steps forward. "I shall do so, Father," he says. "I pledge myself to fight Lancelot of the Lake, in order that he and his brother may be guests, with honour, who make good standing here."

His father's eyes bulge, and it feels my heart stops, large and warm with awe and gratitude. His words are firm and stance is strong, but his eyes on mine are warm and listening.

And all have borne witness to Prince Arthur's word. 

Uther Auf Aydn Pen Dragon does not dispute. He only whirls his cloak and stares in seeming ill humour, flicking fingers and snapping "Very well. There shall be a tournament tomorrow." He shifts his eyes to us, bidding that we be on our way.

\---\>>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers, this is a different story from every one I have previously posted. It is my own work, and the first bit of original writing I've posted as a sort of early Christmas present to myself.
> 
> Some characters I include are based (loosely) on those from Arthurian legend, but with historical backgrounds and my own knowledge of the sixth century as well. 
> 
> Lancelot is Spanish, and as a native English speaker I am doing my best to incorporate his learning of the language in a realistic way. His point of view is written to someone who also speaks his language and is from Spain. Please tell me what you think of this, and feel free to leave constructive comments or questions about this piece.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy :)


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